“Good,” his lordship said.
Mr. Stanley reappeared, and soon the brandy tray arrived.
“And what of John’s mother?” Lady Angsley asked.
Eleanor was fond of the other Lady Cambrey, the dowager. She was a kind mother-in-law to Maggie.
“In London, at present,” Grayson said. “I escorted her there myself a couple weeks ago.”
“Good,” his lordship repeated himself. “Less people to worry about.”
They sat in silence for a while, all four sipping brandy and listening to the rain drum against the windows.
“You were in London recently, weren’t you?” Lady Angsley asked Eleanor.
“Yes, I was. For the entire Season.” She tried not to sound fed up by the entire tedious ordeal.
“We were there for the opening race at Ascot and, of course, for the Derby.” Lady Angsley looked to her husband for confirmation.
“I was at the Derby,” Eleanor said. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you there. Except for that delightful day in Surrey, I believe I spent the majority of my time in stuffy ballrooms and dining rooms in Town.”
Her ladyship sent her a questioning smile. “And you didn’t find your ideal suitor?”
Eleanor felt her cheeks grow warm. It was a rather personal question but seeing as she’d been in and out of the Angsleys’ house for five years, she supposed it was all right for Lady Angsley to ask.
Yet Grayson seemed to be listening intently, too, and she hated to sound like a failure.
“I met some interesting gentlemen,” she said, thinking of the few men she could actually recall and how interestingly vain, boring, or dull they were.
Lady Angsley turned to Grayson. “You were here last night?”
He seemed to still be considering her answer, for he paused before he answered. “Yes, I stayed at the granary lodge with my mother.”
“I miss having her in the house,” her ladyship said. “I’m so glad Phoebe—”
A gun shot rendered the night, interrupting her.
*
“Hell’s bells!” LordAngsley exclaimed. “What next? Armageddon and pestilence?”
Gray jumped to his feet again and headed for the door.
“Everyone, stay here,” he ordered, belatedly realizing he didn’t have the right to order anyone to do anything but hoped they would listen anyway.
Footsteps on the main stairs heralded the arrival of Captain Carruthers rushing down to his side, only half-dressed but armed.
As a privateer—some said pirate—Beryl’s husband probably always slept with one eye open and a gun in his hand. Gray didn’t know him too well, except as the man who’d saved Beryl’s life more than once, for which he was grateful, as she was like a sister to him.
“It could be nothing,” Gray told him, then a shot rang out again. “Or maybe something,” he added, grabbing a cloak from the front hall cupboard. He tossed one to Philip, as Mr. Stanley reappeared.
“We’ll check this out. Maybe those in the drawing room need more brandy.”
“Yes, sir.”
With the captain by his side, Gray dashed out into the night, his second encounter with a nasty thunderstorm in two days. He didn’t need to worry about catching Maggie’s fever. He would probably get chilblains or be struck by lightning first.
Philip paused beside him on the gravel at the front of the house. “I hate to say this, but unless there are more shots, we can’t possibly determine where the first ones came from.”
